Reprieve, as They Saw It
by BirdieInATree
Summary: She doesn't sleep when he's gone. A moment with Arnbjorn and Astrid, after Cicero arrives. Might be considered fluff.


_A/N: Yes, I wrote fluff with assassins. And yes, I included some irony. Keep an eye out for it. _

_I like how this turned out. It's a bit removed from everything, but I think their relationship is like that. Reviews are always appreciated.  
_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim_

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Astrid was rarely truly tired; she hadn't been in a long time. Like a cat, she would sleep when she so desired.

She was lying back in bed, reading over some notes on Mephala. To be truthful, she'd always had a fascination with the stories whether they were true or not. The Webspinner was particularly interesting to her, though she herself didn't appreciate betrayal so much as deceit.

The story wasn't even that interesting, and the first time she'd read it Babette spoiled the ending, but she still wasn't tired.

Maybe that was because Arnbjorn was out.

She would never admit to her little bouts of insomnia when he was away, but they were definitely there. She hadn't slept soundly in a while, staying up far later than usual and rising early. He'd just left after Cicero's arrival, thoroughly frustrated over the newcomers. This included the one they called "Dragonborn", the Dunmer she'd recruited.

He was a werewolf, just like her husband, but unlike him, he'd joined the Companions flawlessly.

And like a wolf, her husband guarded his territory and was greatly bothered by disturbances.

It was to her relief when she heard the door shut nearby, and she smelled the musk of her wolf. No sooner had she recognized him did he storm in, tossing a fresh troll's skull onto the shelf before stripping from his bloodied shirt. She watched his stiff movements with some amusement as he changed into fresh breeches. He was still more relaxed now than when he left.

"How goes the hunting?"

He hummed and tapped the skull.

"Thank you for cleaning it this time." She responded. "I know this place is bloody, but _the smell._"

That got a laugh out of him as he climbed under their furs, blowing out the candles along the way. She followed suit, taking a moment to appreciate the warmth. Nord blood left her indifferent to the cold most days, but even a trained killer could appreciate a little warmth.

Arnbjorn still hadn't spoken, and that was more than a little disconcerting. It wasn't that he was talkative, she just wasn't used to him thinking so deeply.

"What's wrong?" She asked, "Do we need to—"

"It's nothing."

"You know how I feel about lying."

"That it's profitable?" There it was: a jest. She was making progress.

She moved closer, throwing an arm over his bare torso, "Not with me, husband."

He'd always liked it when she was affectionate, or at least as close to it as she could be. She had a thing for secrets, which explains the sheer silence of their pre-marriage relationship. He didn't mind, savoring the little moments.

Sometimes he had to wonder if she truly cared or it was all sadism.

The werewolf let out a sigh, "I'm just not used to… all this. The jester, that boy with the wolf-face…"

"Hmm…" She settled into his side, and he decided she really felt something.

If killers felt nothing, how could they be a family?

"I don't think you have anything to worry about." She stated, "Do you remember our wedding?"

"How could I forget?"

"I can't believe the priest fell for it. The look on his face… Mm, that was a good start to a honeymoon."

There's something special about sharing a memory like that.

It was true; they'd been on a contract in Riften to kill a priest of Mara. He was usually walking the streets, but when a young couple showed up asking about marriage, he stayed out just a little too late. Everyone was asleep by the time the impromptu ceremony was over, and…

"I still can't believe you got the kill. If my dagger hadn't been stuck in that damn bodice…" She tried to make another comment, but trailed off, her eyes drooping.

He smiled, rolling over to hold her tightly. Astrid would normally comment on the smell, but she wanted to drop everything and just sleep. This was her husband, regardless of the bloodied hallways where murderers walked outside, or the fact they walked with them.

It would be their little secret, this moment.

He knew he would sleep without dreams, so he kept his eyes open long after Astrid drifted off. That was just as good.


End file.
